NEXT UP! 2 142 number. Mine read, “N Mandela 466/64,” which meant I was the 466th prisoner admitted to the island in 1964. I was fortysix years old, a political prisoner with a life sentence, and that small cramped space was to be my home for I knew not how long. […] That first week we began the work which would occupy us for the next few months. Each morning, a load of stones about the size of volleyballs was dumped by the entrance to the courtyard. Using wheelbarrows, we moved the stones to the center of the yard. We were given either four-pound hammers or fourteen-pound hammers for the larger stones. Our job was to crush the stones into gravel. We were divided into four rows, about a yard-and-a-half apart, and sat crosslegged on the ground. We were each given a thick rubber ring, made from tires in which to place the stones. The ring was meant to catch flying chips of stone, but hardly ever did so. We wore makeshift wire masks to protect our eyes. Warders walked among us to enforce the silence. During those first few weeks, warders from other sections and even other prisons came to stare at us as if we were a collection of rare caged animals. The work was tedious and difficult; it was not strenuous enough to keep us warm but it was demanding enough to make all our muscles ache. […] Robben Island had changed since I had been there for a fortnight’s stay in 1962. In 1962, there were few prisoners; the place seemed more like an experiment than a fullfledged prison. Two years later, Robben Island was without question the harshest, most iron-fisted outpost in the South African penal system. It was a hardship station not only for the prisoners but for the prison staff. Gone were the Coloured warders who had supplied cigarettes and sympathy. The warders were white and overwhelmingly Afrikaans-speaking, and they demanded a master-servant relationship. They ordered us to call them “baas”, which we refused. The racial divide on Robben Island was absolute: there were no black warders, and no white prisoners. […] From the first day, I had protested about being forced to wear short trousers. I demanded to see the head of the prison and made a list of complaints. The warders ignored cramped – þröngt a wheelbarrow – hjólbörur gravel – möl makeshift – bráðabirgða rare – sjaldgæfur tedious – leiðinlegur strenuous – krefjandi a fortnight – tvær vikur full-fledged – fullþróaður iron-fisted – mjög harður penal – refsing hardship – mótlæti to supply – útvega overwhelmingly – yfirþyrmandi divide – hér: klofningur Mandela demonstrating the penal labour during a visit to Robben Island in 1997.
RkJQdWJsaXNoZXIy MjIxNzc=